


Jag's Pub and Club (Ghouls' Night Out)

by iDragonSpyro



Series: Clextober 2019 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Again, Clextober, Clextober 2019, F/F, Ghouls' Night Out, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Monster Bar, Shapeshifter Lexa, Werewolf Clarke Griffin, also she does eat a heart but it's not described or anything it's just a thing that happens, bartender niylah, catra is annoyed, clarke is thirsty once again, i'm pulling her out of her universe to get treated better before she gets fucked over again, not really ghouls but shhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 23:29:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iDragonSpyro/pseuds/iDragonSpyro
Summary: "What exactly is this place?”Lexa cocks her head. “How’d you find this place without knowing what it is?”“A friend told me to come here. Her name’s Raven.”“Ah.” The group lets out a collective noise of understanding. At Clarke’s confused expression, Lexa explains.“Raven found us by accident one night when she was walking through the back alley. She saw Anya come in through the wall and followed her. We couldn’t exactly hide, but luckily she was cool about it and didn’t report us to the local hunter group. She actually helped some of our witches set up more wards to keep us hidden.”Witches.Clarke shakes her head slightly. “So, what, this place is a hideout for supernatural beings?”Lexa tosses her head back and laughs, the noise rippling through the air like music. Clarke freezes a little and pointedly ignores the amused glances from Niylah and Catra.“Of a sort,” Lexa tells her, smiling gently. “This part is affectionately referred to as the Fang Club. Jag’s is mostly a cover for this. It’s a place where those that might be hunted or shunned in the outer world can let loose a little, enjoy life. A safe haven.”





	Jag's Pub and Club (Ghouls' Night Out)

**Author's Note:**

> spot the borrowed character

Clarke nervously checked the address Raven had scrawled onto her arm the night before. She hadn’t explained what the place was, just that it might _“do her some good,”_ whatever that meant. Raven hadn’t led her wrong before, but the bar front with old-fashioned faded gold lettering spelling out “Jag’s Pub and Club” wasn’t exactly what she had expected.

Clarke really hopes Raven doesn’t expect her to solve her problems with alcohol.

The inside of the bar is sleek and dark, with swirls of grey stone running through the dark mahogany floors and up the walls. There are a few patrons already scattered around, laughing and cheering each other. The entire place feels homey, despite the intimidating exterior.

The girl behind the bar eyes Clarke as she approaches. Her eyes flicker up and down her body and, strangely, around her. 

“Afternoon,” the woman greets mildly. “Name’s Niylah. Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I’m Clarke. Clarke Griffin,” Clarke coughs, leaning against the counter. “And no, I, uh, just heard about this place last night.”

“Ah,” Niylah says, brow lifting. “We don’t usually get many of you until later.”

Clarke frowns. “Many of who?”

Niylah narrows her eyes slightly. “Your type don’t usually show up until later. Closer to, say, the witching hour?”

Niylah must sense the way Clarke tenses silently because she places her dishrag on the counter and motions for Clarke to follow her. Still wary, Clarke moves after her, eyeing the other people in the bar.

Niylah leads her towards the back storeroom, stopping in front of a wall. When Clarke steps closer, she splays her palm against the bricks and pushes lightly.

Clarke’s jaw drops in shock when the bricks start peeling away from each other, creating an opening. On the other side, there’s a larger bar, with tables scattered around a small wooden dance floor. There’s an extravagant bar counter set towards the back, underneath a small balcony that seems to wrap around the entire room.

Niylah pats Clarke on the shoulder and brushes past her, heading straight for the back. Clarke follows quickly, still not sure about what’s happening.

“Catra,” Niylah calls out, “we’ve got a new customer.”

The bartender, Catra, pops a bottle up with her foot and grabs it midair, flipping it to pour into three shot glasses. “Does the newcomer have a name?”

“Clarke,” she responds, sliding into a seat. “Came in a few minutes ago, looked so confused.”

“Hi,” Clarke says. “Is that a tail?”

Because indeed, there seemed to be a long, dark tail waving about behind the bartender, curling around various bottles and jars and flicking them up to sit on the counter. There also seem to be two cat ears sticking up from the top of her head, twitching with every clatter of glass.

“Yeah,” Catra says, raising a brow and flicking an ear back. She slides the filled shot glass to Clarke and brings her own to her lips. “Got a problem?”

“Calm down, Cat, don’t scare the poor girl on the first day,” a new voice purrs, sliding in next to Clarke. “You wouldn’t want to lose out on customers, would you?”

Clarke nearly chokes on her shot when she swivels to face the newcomer, because _damn._

Piercing green eyes flicker across her own before moving to take in the rest of Clarke’s body. The other girl smirks and bites carefully into a lime, running her tongue over pointed teeth. “Especially one as attractive as this.”

Catra rolls her eyes. “Can anyone go two seconds in this place without being subjected to your innuendos, Lexa?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lexa shoots back, “I thought you expressly _didn’t_ like blondes with blue eyes and smiles that could light up the world. Or is that just one in particular?”

Catra whips her dishrag off her shoulder and points it at her. “Touché.” 

Lexa snorts and turns back to Clarke. “You’re Clarke, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Clarke croaks. “I am. What exactly is this place?”

Lexa cocks her head. “How’d you find this place without knowing what it is?”

“A friend told me to come here. Her name’s Raven.”

“Ah.” The group lets out a collective noise of understanding. At Clarke’s confused expression, Lexa explains.

“Raven found us by accident one night when she was walking through the back alley. She saw Anya come in through the wall and followed her. We couldn’t exactly hide, but luckily she was cool about it and didn’t report us to the local hunter group. She actually helped some of our witches set up more wards to keep us hidden.”

_Witches._ Clarke shakes her head slightly. “So, what, this place is a hideout for supernatural beings?”

Lexa tosses her head back and laughs, the noise rippling through the air like music. Clarke freezes a little and pointedly ignores the amused glances from Niylah and Catra.

“Of a sort,” Lexa tells her, smiling gently. “This part is affectionately referred to as the Fang Club. Jag’s is mostly a cover for this. It’s a place where those that might be hunted or shunned in the outer world can let loose a little, enjoy life. A safe haven.”

“So what are you, then?”

Lexa shakes her head. “You’re the new kid, you first.”

“Right,” Clarke mutters, nervously rubbing her fingers together. “Well, it’s actually a more recent discovery on my part? A couple of weeks ago I was going through my dad’s old journals and found some notes in a language I didn’t recognize, and then that night I woke up with my bedsheets torn to shreds and giant claw marks on my walls. I talked to my mom and apparently, my dad was a werewolf.”

Catra starts filling more shot glasses. “Was?”

“Yeah,” Clarke nods, more confident now that there had been no surprise about the _werewolf_ part of things. “According to my mom, when I was born, my parents took me to see a shaman of some sort to suppress the wolf part. Several years later my dad was roaming through the woods and got shot while trying to get home.”

“Oh man,” Lexa says. “Catra, put those drinks away and get the special stuff, it looks like we might need it. So, you didn’t know you were a werewolf? What about your dad’s body?”

Clarke shakes her head. “We had a closed casket. According to my mother, the body was picked apart so much that they just burned the rest of it.”

“That actually could make sense,” Lexa nods. “If it was witches that killed him, they probably took his organs and likely his fur. Werewolves are very useful in spells and potions.”

Clarke tilts her head. “Are you a witch?”

Lexa leans back and taps her knuckles against the counter.

“After a fashion, I suppose,” she responds. “I’m from one of the Shifter clans up north, but I studied with my clan’s Master Shaman for a while, so I have some capabilities in potion brewing and spellcasting.”

Clarke frowns. “Shifter clans?”

“Oh boy, your mother really told you nothing, huh?” Catra says, sliding several glasses across the counter.

“No, not really.”

Lexa downs her shot. “Okay, we’ll keep it simple then. Catra,” she points, “is a faunling.”

Catra flips her the bird. “You know it, baby.”

“‘Faunling’ refers to any being whose appearance is a mix between a human and an animal. Features vary by species, and species usually stay within their own packs.

“I’m an elf,” Niylah adds. “I use an illusion charm when I’m working the front, but I have thin horns that follow the curve of my hair, and I can see your aural force. That’s how I knew you were a wolf.”

“Over there,” Lexa nods toward a woman in all black, “that woman is a vampire. Yes, she can see herself in pictures, no, garlic doesn’t bother her, yes, she can shapeshift but the animal depends on the person, no, it doesn’t hurt to get bit.”

Clarke stares at her. “How do you know?”

Lexa shrugs. “I’ve donated a few times. They have this chemical they release to relax whoever they’re drinking from, something about fear making the blood taste bad.”

“Huh.”

“Anyways,” Lexa continues, pointing at Clarke, “you are a werebeast. A werewolf, to be exact. There are also werecats, werebears, wererats, basically anything you can think of, if it bites, there’s a wereclan.”

“Wow,” Clarke blinks. “My dad’s journals didn’t say anything about that.”

Lexa snorts. “They wouldn’t. Most wereclans are on friendly terms with each other, but they don’t want to show proof of communication between them in case humans find them, so they keep mentions each other vague and evasive.”

“Damn,” Clarke whistles softly. She narrows her eyes at Lexa. “What about you? You said you were a shifter?”

“Yup,” Lexa says, accepting a glass from Catra and taking a sip, humming contentedly. Clarke absolutely does _not_ focus in on the noise, nor does she lick her lips lightly. “The shifter clans. We’re weres that didn’t quite get the memo. Supposedly our kind started when some wereclans centuries ago tried to crossbreed to make themselves stronger, but ended up with us instead. We can’t be made, only born. There have been families that lost the gift only to have the gene pop up generations later. We can turn into pretty much any animal at will. Most of us tend to drift towards a certain group of animals as we mature, but the ability is always there, once we learn to control it.”

“So you’re kind of overpowered, huh?” Clarke teases, and Lexa laughs again.

“It has its perks.” She eyes Clarke from the corner of her eye as she tries her drink, finding it to have a very nice taste of mulled cider and something smokier yet somehow sharper layered just underneath. “Have you had your first heart yet?”

Clarke chokes on her drink. “My first _what?”_

“Heart?” Lexa frowns before letting out a loud sigh. “Clarke, how many times have you turned?”

“Uh, just the one, why?”

Lexa groans. “Of course your mother wouldn’t tell you, she probably didn’t want you to know… alright, there’s this ritual, right? On its first hunt, a young wolf eats the heart of its victim. That’s because the heart is like a connection between the wolf’s instincts and the human’s control. Eating the heart lets you control how and when you shift.”

Clarke holds back a gag. “So to control this… I need to eat a heart. I need to eat a human heart.”

Lexa winces at her. “It’s actually not so bad. I’d suggest finding either someone that’s terminally ill or a criminal, or someone that’s very recently dead. Once you get close enough the wolf will take over and do the work for you.”

Clarke groans and drops her had on the counter. “For fuck’s sake.”

Catra slides another shot in front of her. “Buck up, kid. Give me your hand.”

Clarke sticks her hand out and yells in surprise when something sharp stabs the middle of her palm. “The hell was that?”

Catra shrugs. “Just part of our identification system. Once you’ve completed the ritual, come back in through the alley. There’s a section of brick that you should be able to tell is different once you’ve eaten the heart. Press your palm to it, and the entrance should open up.”

Clarke sighs. “I actually have to eat this heart, huh.”

“Yup.”

She sighs again and throws back the shot.

Okay, so, technically she did it? Clarke didn’t go out and hunt someone down with the intent of eating their heart, she just watched a man get thrown out of a window and was standing over his body with blood running down her chin before she knew what was happening, but on the bright side, she didn’t actually have to kill anyone, and on the super-bright side, she didn’t remember a single second of it!

Clarke had experimented with her abilities for a day or so, testing what she could do. Her wolf form was very fun, an average-sized blonde wolf that could run for hours on end (yeah, she tested that, sue her). Clarke could also call her heightened sense up at will, finding her sight, hearing, and sense of smell to be the most affected. 

So now she’s walking through this dark alley behind the bar, trying to find that patch of bricks Catra was talking about, when suddenly-

“Well, well, well,” a voice sneers, making the hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck stiffen. “What have we here? A little wolf without a pack in sight.”

Clarke turns to face the voice, eyes growing wide at the raised scars and markings on the woman’s face. The woman slides towards her, smirking.

“All alone with no one to help her,” she purrs. “How unfortunate-”

Something slams into the woman, bowling her over and tackling her to the ground. The woman shrieks, clawing desperately at the legs of the giant cat standing above her. The cat glares at her and lets out an entry yowl, slashing claws down the woman’s neck before stepping off. The woman scrambles to her feet and dashes away, cursing to herself. 

“Are you alright?”

Clarke jumps at the voice. Turning quickly, she sees that the cat has disappeared and been replaced by Lexa, who looks concerned.

“I-” Clarke blinks at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Were you a cat?”

“Yes, Lexa winks at her. “I couldn’t let such a pretty lady get killed by a succubus, now could I?”

“Uh,” Clarke flushes, choosing to ignore the part about _succubus_ for the time being. “I suppose not.”

Lexa narrows her eyes at her playfully, and Clarke doesn’t think she’s imagining the low, rumbling purr that seems to be coming from Lexa’s chest.

“Of course not,” Lexa replies smoothly, turning and walking farther down the alley. She stops in a seemingly random spot, turning to face the wall. “Do you see it?”

Clarke peers at the wall, eyes flicking around.

“Don’t try so hard,” Lexa laughs. “Just let it happen naturally.”

Unfocusing her eyes slightly, Clarke looks again and is surprised to see a faint shimmer of gold around a few of the bricks. Lexa presses her hand against the spot, like Niylah in the back of the bar the other day, and the bricks open up.

She bows slightly to Clarke, sweeping her arm out and winking. “After you, Clarke.”

Clarke steps through the opening and finds herself on the opposite side of the room as she came in the other day. There are more people here tonight, and Clarke catches glimpses of several fangs and flicking tails and even, once, a pair of wings as Lexa leads them to the back.

“Ah, the new kid!” Catra calls as they approach. “Got that heart?”

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, settling onto a stool. “I don’t remember it, so little blessings, I guess.”

Catra laughs and fills a glass with amber liquid. “This is the same stuff from the other day. Let me know if you want to try anything else.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says and sips the drink, humming when she finds it to be the stuff that tastes like cider.

“That’s a special recipe,” Lexa murmurs in her ear, and Clarke shivers when she realizes just how close Lexa really is. “It’s our special made spiced and spiked cider, with a little dragonweed for the smokiness.”

“You make this?” Clarke asks as Lexa settles onto another stool, swirling her own glass in her hand.

“Old recipe,” she winks. “This one is, too, but I’ll let you figure these flavors out on your own.” She takes a sip. “What do you think?”

Clarke slowly brings her glass to her lips, taking a sip and letting her tongue play through the different flavors, swirling it slightly before swallowing and licking across her bottom lip. She watches as Lexa’s pupils slit vertically like a cat’s and simultaneously widen, following the path of Clarke’s tongue.

“I think it’s divine,” Clarke husks out, leaning forward slightly.

“You know what I think?” Lexa asks, spinning her glass.

“What?”

Lexa raises her glass and tips it back, draining half of its contents in one swallow in a movement that practically forces Clarke’s eyes to glue themselves to the muscles and tendons in Lexa’s neck. She sets the glass down and leans forward, bringing one hand up to caress Clarke’s cheek.

“I think,” she purrs, and Clarke can smell hints of something spiced and flowery and warm on her breath, “that you are going to be very fun to have around, Clarke Griffin.”

She finishes her drink in one more swallow and slides off to the dance floor with a wink.

Clarke stares after her for a moment, dazed, before a loud slam startles her. 

“Are you serious, dude, that was the strongest come-on I’ve seen in possibly ever,” Catra hisses at her. “Go after her, dipshit!”

Clarke finishes her drink and does.

**Author's Note:**

> *singing* the bullshit's back and you're gonna be in trouble...  
late again but fuck it  
My tumblr is @idragonspyro, feel free to come scream at me there.


End file.
